A Life for Victory
by Storm Vanguard One
Summary: Summer 1943 on the Eastern Front. The 1st Berkian Anti-Partisan Formation prepares to fight the fascists. One night during a raid, their resident bungler captures an SS officer, and as August approaches, the Kursk salient's fate hangs in the balance. A story about patriotism and sacrifice, and how the smallest people can be the bravest.


**_A Life for Victory_**

Chapter 1: The Raid

 _Raven Forest, Berkian Soviet Socialist Republic (Occupied), June 1943_

"Wake up comrades, wake up!" bellowed the loud voice of Gobber Belchin, shocking Astrid Hofferna awake almost immediately. The blonde-haired soldier looked at her commander in confusion, as the old man banged harder on the door of their dugout, causing dust to fall from the ceiling and the other soldiers to rise up.

"Grab your weapons and report to Comrade Traktor for orders," said the man with unnatural calm. "The Fritzes are here."

 _What?!_ Astrid's mind refused to process the information for a moment. The Germans had found their camp? How in the name of-

"What are you waiting for?!" Gobber yelled again, banging his hook-hand against the door. "Get moving!"

Nodding vigorously, Astrid took the lead, shouting orders to the rest of her squad as the shouting and shooting from outside began to intensify. The blonde jammed her cap onto her head, before grabbing her Papasha and practically leaping up the ladder to the surface. Upon reaching ground level, Astrid was immediately forced down as a stream of bullets streaked past her head, screams emitted as they hit their intended target somewhere behind her. She flattened herself into the grass, not moving until three seconds had passed. She rolled to side, and began crawling towards the nearest ridge as her comrades followed close behind.

All around Astrid and her squad the members of the 1st Berkian Anti-Fascist Partisan Formation were engaged in combat with their German oppressors. It was a dark summer night in 1943, and the forest in Berk was as dark as it could get. Now and then, the trees lit up with bright flashes from the muzzles of rifles. Occasionally, tracers of all colours lit up the scene of a fierce firefight, Berkians, Russians and Ukrainians fighting for their lives against the fascist beasts. Twice, grenades went off, and a hand or leg came flying away from the site of the detonation. Some of her more recent recruits stuck out their tongues or turned a funny colour at the sight, but Astrid was a veteran. At the young age of nineteen she'd dug trenches at Moscow as the Germans surrounded the capital, and marched through Red Square to the front as a sniper, clad in a snowsuit. Since the first months of the Great Patriotic War and the partisans' flight from the local Fritzes in 1942, there just wasn't anything she hadn't seen before.

After another three minutes she eventually came across the familiar silhouette of Traktor in his trench coat, standing beside their 'chief', Comrade Stoick in his old-school budenovka. Around him were the other five squad leaders. Their partisan unit wasn't as large or well-staffed as some of the others in Minsk or Bryansk, but it was well led, that was for sure. Comrade Stoick had trekked across the home-republic on foot after being shot down by fascist planes in '41, and ended up here in his hometown, in time to start the unit and destroy 30 train carriages' worth of food and winter clothing, as well as ten train junctions. Astrid wouldn't have picked any other man to lead them.

"Hello, comrades," Astrid greeted them upon joining the meeting. She'd dispersed her squad to wherever they were needed, so as not to waste manpower. "What did I miss?"

Traktor pointed at the rough map they'd sketched of their surrounding area. "The Fritzes came quite prepared, with smaller attacks happening here and here to divert our men." The grey-bearded elder pointed to two gaps in the brush and ridges, circled in red on his map. "Normally, these small attacks would have been nothing to any other battalion, but we are far smaller than that. We are short of men to send to repel the main attack. Currently we have taken seven casualties. Any more than twenty, and we will have lost too many." Traktor finished gravely, and looked to Stoick for instructions.

Without missing a beat, the burly commander with his red beard pointed to the map. "Comrade Astrid, take ten men and flank the Fritzes here. Suppress them with a machine gun and grenades while our forces retreat. Hopefully the Fritzes did not overestimate our numbers too much. Take as many grenades as you may need." He turned to the other leaders. "Comrade Smirnov, take seven men and suppress the Germans at this point here. The rest of you, aid in evacuation and destroy all structures left here. I want all dugouts rigged with TNT before we leave. If the Fritzes get the camp, they get nothing. Now go!" The squad leaders sprang into action, Astrid collecting her ten best fighters en route to her zone of attack. The last two to join her were the Kolashenko brothers, Ukrainian machine-gunners who had been proven to be able to raise massive chaos as a DP gunner team. One brother hefted the heavy machine gun, while the other carried drums in his satchel and watched the rear as the small column of men and women crept through the trees, rifles ready to fire in an instant.

Silently, the squad lined up facing their enemies. Astrid herself was lying prone, her rifle resting in a small hump of the ridge, comfortably lined up to the head of the German squad's machine-gunner. She breathed in and out slowly, composing herself as the Kolashenkos set up their DP's bipod. Eventually, there was silence among then eleven of them, and Astrid's fingers silently began a countdown from five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

"Kill the fascist scum, comrades!" screamed Astrid as she yanked a grenade's pin, and lobbed the explosive device into the German squad's little foxhole of cover. The grenade exploded, bathing the small forest clearing in red and orange light, as the DP machine gun beside her rattled to life with loud bangs and cracks. Astrid took her shot, piercing through the helmet of an unfortunate German soldier as her fighters lobbed their own grenades, with cries of "For the Motherland, for Stalin!" Briefly, she glimpsed the dirt-streaked, tired face of commander Angnir nodding to her from his unit's location as the tired Berkians pulled back. Two silhouettes behind the now re-organizing Germans alerted her to the presence of Yevgeny and Gunnarr behind their distracted foes.

Astrid took aim again, and fired. The Mosin rifle kicked back in her shoulder, and another green uniform fell to the ground. The battle was on.

* * *

 _Raven Forest, Berkian Soviet Socialist Republic, June 1943_

"Take this message to KomBat Yelena, she's at Sector B along the front."

"Yes, KomDiv."

"Do not deviate from your route. Go straight to her, and stay where you are until you are otherwise instructed."

"Yes, KomDiv."

"Do you understand?"

"Yes, KomDiv."

"Well, then why are you here, go!"

Hiccup Haddock sighed as he leaped out of Commander Svensson's dugout, and began running as fast as he could along the front, his rifle slung awkwardly over his shoulder and digging hard into his side. Now and then, his budenovka which was way too big for his head would fall into his eyes, and he'd have to push it out of the way, or risk slamming into a tree, or worse some other soldier rushing to his next position. Alas, the brown-haired partisan failed to react quickly enough, resulting in him barrelling headlong into Commander Sergey, and sending them both sprawling. Hiccup's rifle discharged by accident as he fell, leaving him coughing out dirt sheepishly as he slowly raised his hat, to be confronted with the red face of Sergey.

"You!" shouted the thirty-year old Russian, his eyebrows rising impossibly high. "I thought I told you to watch where you were going!"

Hiccup made to reply, but eventually the Commander's attention was drawn away from him by an explosion behind him. It was testament to Hiccup's complete ineptness in the field of battle that all he could think about at that point was how the illumination only made the irritable Commander even scarier.

"The Fritzes have broken through!"

"Reinforce the line!"

"Pah!" huffed the Commander, as he gave Hiccup the evil eye, as if trying to decide what to do with him. After what felt like an eternity, he simply waved his arm like a School Director dismissing a misbehaving schoolboy. "Get moving, you rascal! I'll be speaking to Comrade Stoick about you later."

Nodding gratefully, Hiccup scrambled out of the soil to his feet, and began running forward again.

"And for fuck's sake, keep that damn rifle of yours on safe!"

Hiccup continued running for three more minutes without incident, managing to successfully dodge the other partisans, who were less than pleased to see their resident bungler up and about in the middle of a battle. From what Hiccup could gather, the Germans had actually managed to find their camp for the first time since '42, and were currently present in far greater numbers than they'd ever encountered before. Now and then as his boots pounded awkwardly into the soil and grass, he glimpsed the other teens around his age serving their purpose on the battlefield. Vyshlak Ingermann, a rather big-sized, blonde-haired scholar, was helping with some calculations to aim a mortar they'd found on one of their other raids. Helping him were Ruff and Tuff, the explosive specialists of the camp. _I'll have to speak to Comrade Ingermann soon_ , thought Hiccup as he flashed by. _I want to try that mortar._

"Why are we retreating?"

"If we don't, we'll lose-"

"Comrade Stalin said 'not a step back!', how can we retreat without betraying his socialist ideal!"

Hiccup didn't even bother looking as he slinked past. The Jorgensons, presumably. Spaitlot was the chief political officer of the partisan formation, having been a People's Commissar before the invasion. His son too, had learned the art well, if all the shouting was anything to go by. Despite all the taunts and shoves Hiccup received from the Jorgenson boy almost daily, he knew that even _he_ , a bungler, knew more about warfare than those two.

 _Just past this empty clearing, then- Wait… Who's that?_

Freezing in fright, Hiccup instinctively fell to the ground beside a tree, his rifle falling awkwardly at his side, the message in his satchel forgotten. The brown-haired Berkian desperately hoped his budenovka didn't have one of those ridiculous red stars painted on it, as he squinted at the silhouette across the clearing.

As though God had heard his request, a grenade explosion in the background beyond the clearing sent his quarry diving to the ground, but not before revealing a jet black helmet and a green trench coat.

 _It's Fritz!_ Hiccup realized, as he fumbled for his rifle. And not just any Fritz, it seemed, from the eagle sewn onto his sleeve. It was Hiccup's lucky day. An SS officer right in front of him, alone in the dark, and he hadn't even seen Hiccup yet.

Just as Hiccup was about to take aim with his rifle however, KomDiv Svensson's instructions floated through his mind, and he lowered the weapon, hesitating. He considered pretending the German was in his way, but soon saw that he could in fact sneak right past him without anyone else noticing. Now tainted with guilt, Hiccup set about slinging his rifle over his shoulder, when he noticed his quarry standing once again, and the silhouette of what appeared to be one of the newest German automatic rifles hanging from his shoulder.

Indecision instantly seized the young twenty-year-old. To do what he was supposed to do, or take a small risk, and possibly accomplish…

 _"_ _Well done son!" crowed a happy Stoick as Hiccup showed him the body, and passed the German rifle to Gobber, who looked happy to examine it, then passed documents found on the body to Maria, who responded with similar gratitude. "Impressive kill. My son's first kill, an SS officer! Glory to you, young one!"_

 _"_ _Nice kill, Comrade Haddock," said a smiling Astrid Hofferna as she looked at him with a warm smile of admiration, blonde bangs falling over one of her beautiful, endless blue eyes. "Perhaps you really are shaping up to become a man." Then, she stepped closer to him. "Perhaps_ my _man?"_

Hiccup shook his mind off those thoughts as he was brought back to reality, albeit one where it seemed to be just him and his quarry. All of the shouting, shooting and explosions seemed to be muted as he made his decision. There was no way he would be letting this opportunity pass him by. The brown-haired partisan raised his modified SVT rifle to his shoulder, and lined up the sights with his target's chest. Just as well, the stupid fascist seemed to be fumbling with something in his pocket, possibly a map of some sort. _Please work,_ Hiccup begged his weapon as he took aim at the black lump in the darkness. _May Lenin, Stalin and Marx bless me, and help me hit this shot. For once, help me to succeed._ He pulled the trigger.

The kick from his shot was more than he'd anticipated, and inevitably the rifle moved a little. But that single shot flew straight and true from that point onwards, eventually finding its target in the SS officer's leg. Hiccup enjoyed a moment of sadistic pleasure as his target crumpled with a shout of " _Ouch, ficken!_ " and vanished from view, clutching his trouser leg. Within a few seconds, there was a loud crack, and the SS officer fell silent after a short groan.

Hiccup laughed out loud at that, leaping to his feet as he did a victory dance, waving his rifle around as though the heavy piece of weapon had suddenly become weightless. "I did it!" he cried, pumping his fist in the air like a lunatic. Spinning around, he came to a stop with his hands spread, facing the empty air. "Did anybody see _that_?"

" _Halt!_ " shouted a loud voice from behind Hiccup, and instantly the young partisan stopped his victory dance, turning around only to find himself staring straight into the barrel of a German Mauser.

* * *

 _Raven Forest, Berkian Soviet Socialist Republic, June 1943_

"What are we up against," growled Stoick as he slung his rifle over his shoulder, ignoring the slight pain he felt as it was crushed between himself and his backpack.

"We have confirmed at least seven separate parties of about fifteen Fritzes each, Comrade Stoick," answered Maria, the intelligence officer.

"Has Comrade Gobber gotten all the equipment together?"

"Yes." Stoick nodded. He knew he could count on Gobber. They'd both come from a town near Raven Forest before the war, and worked well together. He remembered when the _Stavka_ first sent a regular army officer to help him, he'd been less than enthusiastic. Of course, that was before he'd known they were sending Red Army Engineer and Supply Officer Comrade Gobber, master maintenance officer and logistics manager. Already he expected the many crates of food and equipment were on their way to the next planned camp in case of emergency.

"I will meet you at-"

"Stop!" Stoick cut off his intelligence officer abruptly. "That scream…" His mood darkening immediately, the red-haired commander flung open the dugout's trapdoor, catching sight of his son being chased by a German with his bayonet across the line.

* * *

 _Raven Forest, Berkian Soviet Socialist Republic, June 1943_

"Stop!" shouted the German behind Hiccup in coarse Russian as he chased his quarry, as though that would even do anything. Hiccup for his part, continued to run like a fool, screaming at the top of his lungs for help.

 _Damn it!_ He thought. _I knew this was a bad idea_. Seeking to lighten his load, Hiccup grabbed his rifle and threw it right back, gaining some distance as his pursuer's nose broke with a loud _crack_. Fritz swore loudly, but Hiccup kept running, unable to understand even if he wanted to.

Even so, he was tiring fast, and tried another trick. This time, he threw his satchel in a spinning arc, hoping to entangle the pursuer with the strap. However, this time Hiccup was instead treated to the ripping sound of a bayonet piercing leather, as the German laughed. "Same trick no work twice, Russian scum!" the German said in his nasal, annoying accent. "Come here!"

Desperate now, Hiccup screamed again, before trying his final trick. He made a quick left turn, and cut straight through the bushes. He smirked as the German raged at his cowardly move. Hiccup knew the battle map like the back of his hand. Right this second, he should have turned straight onto a friendly zone.

Understandably, Hiccup was more than shocked when he emerged in the middle of an open clearing with two ridges on either side, his mouth falling open as he just stood there dumbly. Then, the first bullets racing past his head caught his attention, and there he just lost it. Like a raving madman, Hiccup Haddock ran straight through the fire, miraculously surviving untouched. He turned to the left, seeing to his surprise, his message's recipient, Commander Yelena, staring at him with nothing less than complete astonishment on her face.

"Comrade Hiccup?!" She yelled, pushing her brown hair out of her eyes to get a better view. Hiccup saw her eyes widen upon receiving confirmation, and she began to shout orders to her fighters. "Cease fire, cease fire! Do not hit- ackk!" Frozen in the middle of the battlefield, Hiccup watched in horror as a bullet sliced straight through Comrade Yelena's neck, staining her olive coat red. It was then that he realized exactly how much his foolishness had cost them, and it was then that he just collapsed into a ball in the middle of the battlefield, not caring of anything around him. He didn't even clap when Vyshlak's mortar shell landed right in the middle of the German squad, killing them all.

He remained in that position even when his father Stoick appeared in front of him, Commanders Svensson and Sergey flanking him with faces like thunder.

"Explain yourself," his father said coldly, the backdrop of partisans wiping off last German survivors only making him more intimidating. "Why were you out here?"

Hiccup began to speak, only to be cut off by his father again. "It doesn't matter. Just go back to your unit."

"But I shot a Fritz!" Hiccup replied, waving his arms in the general direction of his kill. "He went down just off Sector B, wearing a green jacket and the duck- I mean eagle on his sleeve. He was definitely an SS! Come with me, I can show you, maybe we can recover his documents or interrogate him, or-"

"No!" Stoick raged, at once silencing his son's rambling, and the beginnings of laughter from the other partisans. "You've caused enough trouble as it is." The bearded partisan leader huffed, at first looking like he pitied Hiccup, before hardening his gaze again and shoving his son over to Gobber.

"Comrade Gobber, take my son back to the dugouts to clean up. Make sure he stays there!" Then he stalked off with his general staff, while Hiccup plodded along behind Gobber, his face looking like thunder as well, trying his best to ignore the snickers coming from Snotlot Jorgenson, and the gaze of daggers from Astrid.

* * *

Partisan: Soviet irregular forces fighting the Germans

Budenovka: Red Army winter hat issued during the Winter War, resembling a Ukrainian bogatyr-knight's helmet

Fritz: Slang for German

Papasha: PPsH-41 submachinegun


End file.
